Threads
by EstelRaca
Summary: Feuilly bandages Enjolras up and helps him repair his clothes following a riot. One-shot, canon era.


**Author's Note:** This was written as a prompt for C-chan for Barricade Day 2013, for the prompt of sewing.

_Threads_

"I think we've lost them." Enjolras allows his muscles to relax, slightly, as he leans against the wall, catching his breath after the mad dash through the streets.

"I think you're right." Feuilly gives a long sigh, then straightens and grabs Enjolras' left arm, holding it out of the shadows and twisting it into the light. "I also think you're bleeding."

"That tends to be what happens when a sword connects with your arm." Enjolras frowns down at the gash cutting through his jacket, his shirt, and clearly biting into flesh, given that blood has trickled down his arm and stains his fingers. There isn't much pain from the injury, still, though his arm is starting to throb now that the thrill from running has faded.

Feuilly frowns. "You could have just told me to move, you know."

Enjolras shrugs. The riot had already been well on its way to breaking up, only Enjolras, Feuilly and a handful of others trying to protect those who were still retreating. When Enjolras saw Feuilly in danger of being struck, he'd simply acted on instinct, trying to draw Feuilly out of danger. "It was chaotic. I did what came to me first."

"And what came to you first was throwing yourself in danger in my place." Feuilly raises one eyebrow.

"We're both alive and relatively uninjured and neither of us has been arrested." Enjolras can feel his face heating as Feuilly stares at him.

Feuilly's fingers gently pry the fabric of Enjolras' shirt apart around the wound. "Next time try calling my name first."

"And if you hadn't heard?" Enjolras flexes his fist, noting with approval that only a small amount of fresh blood wells from the wound with the motion. "The injury isn't that bad. I'm afraid my clothes have been more badly damaged than my person."

"The blade was sharp and the cut's clean, both to your clothing and to your body." Feuilly releases Enjolras' arm. "If you get the blood out quickly enough, you should be able to salvage the clothing."

Enjolras fingers the rip in his jacket. "That would be nice. It's a relatively new set of clothes, and I'd hate to have to buy another. On the other hand, I've not got much experience sewing up my own clothing."

"Really?" Feuilly's surprise is clear on his face; then he looks away, a flush rising to his cheeks. "Well, yes, probably not. Are you… interested in learning at all?"

"Of course." Enjolras hesitates, clasping his right hand over his injury, realizing that will simply grind the blood further into the fabric, and hastily pulling it away. "I don't want to encroach upon your time, though, or—"

"You just got injured protecting me. Allow me to repay my debt." Feuilly grins, any awkwardness between them disappearing in the sheer glowing happiness of that expression. "My place is this way, and I've needle and thread. We can get your arm bandaged, at least temporarily, and I can show you how to fix your clothes."

Enjolras nods, a smile on his own face, and follows his friend.

XXX

"Is that tight enough? Too tight?"

Enjolras flex his elbow and then his fist, testing the tightness of the bandage around his upper arm, covering the gash there. "Perfect."

"Well, bandaging each other is something that all of us seem to have had a great deal of practice with over the last few months." Feuilly packs away his small collection of bandages. "Things are building. Something will happen soon."

"Something happened today." Enjolras smiles, lowering his arm to his side. "But yes, I believe you're right. Soon the people will be ready for something more organized, something more… aggressive and impactful than a simple riot."

"Then you think the revolution will begin soon, too." Feuilly smiles again, eagerness in his voice.

"Yes." Enjolras inclines his head. "I think it will be soon."

"Good." Feuilly stands, moving over to the bowl where Enjolras' shirt and jacket sleeve have been soaking since they reached Feuilly's apartment. "The jacket's going to be fine—black's a nice color for hiding bloodstains, and we got it soaking fast enough that it's not going to have much of a stain anyway. As for the undershirt, well… it's going to have a bit of stain, but it's mostly come out."

"It'll be under a jacket most times anyway." Enjolras stands, moving to Feuilly's side. "So long as it's serviceable, I don't mind."

"Oh, I can definitely make it serviceable. Here, we'll let your clothes dry in the sun and find some threads that will match. Thankfully you're not Courfeyrac. White and black I'm sure I've got; he's got quite a few other colors in his wardrobe. Or Jehan. Jehan has some clothing in colors I didn't even know that clothing came in."

"He does tend to create rather unique ensembles." Crossing his arms over his chest, Enjolras tries not to shiver. It's not cold, but without any shirt on every eddy of air feels cool against his skin. "I find it best to keep things simple."

"It fits you." Feuilly lays the clothes out. "Speaking of which, do you need something to wear while we work on this? You're a bit taller than me, but we're both wiry in build so I think it should work otherwise; I'm sure I can find my spare shirt around here if you'd prefer to have something on rather than being half-naked."

"I don't want to make any more extra work for you than I already have. I won't freeze to death." A gust of wind howls around the house, some of it sliding between cracks in the wall, and Enjolras' body shivers despite his best efforts. "Probably."

"Mm hm." Feuilly presses his lips together, clearly suppressing a smile. He reaches under a pile of fabric and art supplies and emerges with a clean white shirt. "Here. It won't make you decent, but it will keep you warmer until we're done."

The shirt doesn't quite fit, the sleeves too short, but it works well enough, especially since they're both of a slimmer build rather than heavily muscled like Bahorel or Grantaire.

Feuilly hums quietly to himself as he collects a needle and thread, ordering Enjolras to sit on the bed and then settling down beside him, Enjolras' jacket in front of him. "Now, since it's not on a seam this isn't going to go together perfectly, but the fabric is thick enough that I should be able to make this look halfway decent."

Enjolras watches as Feuilly's fingers glide over the rip, coaxing the fabric back together, placing stitches that, for the most part, blend into the rest of the material without drawing too much attention to themselves. Feuilly does half of the repair, obviously moving slowly for Enjolras' benefit, and then passes everything over to Enjolras for Enjolras to complete the task.

It's awkward, at first, Enjolras' fingers unused to holding the needle, unused to holding the fabric, and his half of the repair is much more obvious than Feuilly's. In the end it is repaired, though, and he finishes just in time to look up and see Feuilly finish repairing the rip in his undershirt.

Enjolras frowns at the other man. "You're very proficient at this."

"Practice makes perfect." Feuilly grins. "Not that these look perfect, but they should be serviceable."

"Quite." Shrugging out of Feuilly's shirt and back into his own clothes, wincing as the gash in his arm twinges, Enjolras fingers the repairs. "Thank you."

"No need for thanks. Just repaying a debt." Feuilly smiles, his hand resting almost possessively on Enjolras' left shoulder above the injury for a moment. "Next time, though, really try to yell. Or at least get us both out of the way."

"I will try." That much is true, though Enjolras also knows that he would gladly take injuries for any of the Amis, and that if a snap decision is needed he may end up with injuries again in the future.

"It's getting close to time to rendezvous with the others." Feuilly gestures toward the door. "Shall we?"

Leading the way to the Musain, Enjolras finds himself smiling, relaxed, at ease despite the hectic morning.

He has a good friend at his side, a new and useful skill in hand, and words pushing forward in his mind, words that the others will help him craft and perfect, words that they will use to turn bloodshed into potential, tyranny into opportunity.

Despite all the work that they have to do, all that is so very wrong in the world, for the moment, Enjolras is content.


End file.
